Temporary Home
by BrokenxTalon
Summary: Albert Manning reflects on the different ways he's hurt his son, Craig, and why Joey Jeremiah's place is only a temporary home.


A/N: Hiiii. :] So, please read, enjoy and review. I greatly appreciate it. This is based on Craig and Albert's relationship after Craig goes to live with Joey. Just some things I had on my mind while watching "When Doves Cry" and "Tears Are Not Enough."

Disclaimer: I do not own Degrassi. I wish I did... but I don't. -Sigh-

**Temporary Home****  
Written by BrokenxTalon****  
June 26, 2010****  
A Craig and Albert Fic  
****"This is my temporary home; it's not**** where I belong.  
Windows and rooms**** that we're passin' through.  
This was just a stop on the****way to where I'm going. I'm not afraid****  
because I know...  
This is my temporary home."**

Albert Manning released his breath as he dragged himself inside and slammed the door shut. Another shit day. He wasn't sure how much longer he could deal with the stress at work; the incompetence of everyone around him was overwhelming. They made him grimace constantly - whenever he was there. Even his regular patients were pushing him to his limits.

Outside, it was raining. A dark overcast had completely covered the blue horizon from earlier this morning. Albert removed his drenched jacket and reached for a towel to dry his hair. At least it was over. At least now he could relax with a steaming cup of coffee and the television for the night.

Once the coffee had started to brew, he breathed a sigh of relief and started towards the kitchen table to wait. Unfortunately, this day was not meant to be a great one. As he came to sit, he realized a half-finished glass of orange juice was sitting on the table without a coaster. Holding his breath, Albert moved the glass and shook his head.

He felt the heat rush to his face. A tan ring from the glass had entirely sullied his perfectly crafted table. The colour looked perfectly odd against the original dark brown. This table... that he had spent his hard-earned money on just to have ruined from a simple glass of orange juice.

Albert came to his feet and swiped the glass off the table. It hit the ground and shattered into hundreds of pieces scattered across his floorboards. His limbs tensed, his throat felt tight, his eyes glazed with a red haze. _Why_ was nothing ever _easy_? After such a dreadful day, why did _this_ have to happen?

He turned towards the stairs, completely ready to take his anger out.

"CRAIG!"

He stopped.

Craig. He had called Craig's name when his son didn't even live with him anymore. Almost instantly, the anger died down and was replaced with a weight of guilt that had sunk right into the pit of his stomach. He turned back to the tarnished table, and with a horrid realization, he recalled leaving the glass there that morning when he was pressed for time.

He had always blamed his son for a lot; most of the time it wasn't even Craig's fault... like now. Whenever he would come home from a stressful day at work, the slightest thing could always set him off... and somehow, he could find a way to connect it to Craig. Those days, his son would usually come home a few minutes late, or he would make the slightest mistake... and that wherein lied the blame.

It would usually start with a confrontation. Whatever Craig replied with in that quivering tone of his almost _always_ enrage Albert. He would shove him into the wall or grab his wrists and throw him the floor. Sometimes he would throw things at him, but most of the time, he kicked him and punched him. He wouldn't say much, but it was never silent. He had to suffer through it just as much as his son; he had to listen to Craig's yelps and cries.

He would always hear the moment that a kick to Craig's ribs stripped his breath from him, and usually, at that point, Albert would take a step back, and his son would curl up tight and clench his fists if he could. Albert could still remember the way Craig would swallow the pain and look up at him; look at him with his mother's hazel eyes, glazed and broken. That only made him angrier, and it was at that point that Albert knew he had to walk away.

Why? Because as much as it seemed unlikely, he didn't want to hurt Craig. Part of him wanted to... but a sliver of that part was focused on how much he looked like his mother... like Julia. That woman... who had left him for Joey... who had left him _and_ Joey... when she died. He hated her for that... he hated her because he loved her. Another sliver of the beating came from the fact that he was just _stressed_, and Craig was always _there_... like a punching bag.

Albert used the towel from earlier to clean the orange juice off the floor, and as he started to sweep the glass pieces, he remembered another time this had happened. Once, that orange juice had been blood. No, he couldn't remember what he had been upset over, but when Craig had pushed him a bit too far one day, things had spiraled out of control.

He could vaguely remember grabbing the nearest glass and absolutely battering Craig in the face with it. He could just _barely_ remember the shards of glass that stuck in his son's cheek. But what he could remember best was where the blood came from. After the glass had broken, all that had remained was the base, and Albert used that to break Craig's nose.

Blood poured everywhere, and Albert could still remember feeling infuriated that there was a bigger mess now. _Clean it up, Craig! _he had screamed, aiming a kick at the twelve-year-old's hips. _You can never stop screwing up, can you?_

But when he went to turn away that day - go upstairs and take a shower - he heard Craig break into tears. He looked back, and only then was he able to realize the amount of pain his son was in. That day had probably been one of the worst beatings Craig had seen at that age, and Albert too. Just one look at poor kid sent him into tears as well.

He remembered picking him up and carrying him the couch before cleaning up the mess. He never was hard to hold; the kid had always been so damn skinny - just like his mother.

Albert had never beat Julia. The reason their marriage failed was simply because they didn't get along as a couple (even though he refused to believe that). He had only started beating - and he used that term _lightly_ - Craig after Julia died. After she had started dating Joey, Albert had only ever yelled at his son.

The beatings had gotten worse with time. They started whenever he would see his son cry for his mother; those tearing hazel eyes just sent him off a lot of the time. By the time he was fourteen, Albert had broken many of Craig's bones out of pure rage. His wrists were two that had been broken countless times because usually, whenever Albert was angry, his first instinct was to lift Craig up by his arms.

Once, when they had gotten into an argument about visiting Angela and Joey, he had even pushed his son halfway down the steps. Albert looked to the bottom of the staircase where it had happened. He could still see the way Craig curled up, clutching his leg and screaming in pain, but at the time, Albert barely reacted. Filled with anger, he had left his son there for a good half hour before he brought him to the hospital.

So he'd broken his nose and his leg... he'd broken his right arm twice and his wrists each several times. He always usually cracked a rib or two. There were several injuries in their time together, but there were always excuses for them when they'd go to the hospital. He was the doctor there - there was never any suspicion.

To the staff, Craig was a clumsy, careless kid. He'd fallen down the stairs by himself... he'd fallen during soccer or basketball... he'd gotten his arm trapped somewhere... and none of it was ever Albert's fault.

The guilt punched Albert harder. With a trembling hand, he poured his coffee and sighed heavily. He had always thrown money at Craig the day after a beating. He'd always made him a nice breakfast, though his son never ate much, or he'd take him to nice places. It helped with the guilt a bit, but it never fully fixed things between them. He could always tell by the forced smile or the way Craig would never meet his eyes.

Their relationship had always been on a swing. The first time Albert had ever physically hurt Craig, the ropes holding that swing started to split. Over time, Albert would push the swing further and further... right up until the point where the ropes broke and Craig fell away from him... and into Joey's arms.

Joey Jeremiah. He hated that man. First he had taken Julia... then he had taken Craig. Albert always knew it was going to happen too. He tried to make Joey hate Craig, but it never worked.

Albert sipped his coffee. He supposed... it was necessary for Craig to live with Joey, nonetheless. He didn't want to hurt Craig anymore... and he knew that as long as his son was living with him and Albert wasn't receiving any help... that things would only get worse. Still, he hated the thought that Craig was now Joey's property... he belonged to the man he had always hated.

Albert had gone to Degrassi. He had never had to deal with Joey much, as they were in separate classes, but even back then, he disliked him. He was arrogant and boastful... proud and loud. Albert hated the way he messed around with girls. Every time he heard that voice call out "Joey Jeremiah... Esquire!" he wanted to scream.

"Dammit..." he whispered, coming to sit down on the couch and click the television on. "He's _my_ son..."

Instinctively, his hand reached for the phone. Today, the guilt was almost unbearable, and he needed to hear Craig's voice. He called every once in a while to talk... and it was okay... it always made him feel a little bit better. It was good to hear him when he wasn't... afraid all the time.

He dialed the numbers he had known by heart; the phone rang. Albert swallowed the anger in his throat before Joey picked up.

"Hello?" he answered in a tired, almost rushed voice.

"Joey," Albert snapped, disgust clear as he uttered the man's name. "It's me."

There was a small pause. "Albert. Can I help you?"

Albert gritted his teeth together. "I'd like to talk to my son, please."

He had to fight to be patient with the other man. The night Craig had gone to live with him, Joey had warned Albert that he _could_ call the cops for the bruises on his son's side. Joey _could _have, but he told him that as long as Craig stayed with him, then he wouldn't. Not willing to lose everything he had left - his son included - Albert obeyed.

"He can't come to the phone right now..."

"Don't lie to me, Jeremiah!" Albert spat, unable to keep his control. Joey could _not_ keep him from his own flesh and blood! "I told you I wanted to talk to Craig-"

"- Craig is _sick_!" Joey hissed in a low voice. Albert went silent. "He needs his rest. That's what you do for your child when they need you... but that's probably something you didn't know."

Albert ignored it - ignored it all. "I don't believe you..." he snarled, shaking his head though Joey couldn't see it. "You're just trying to keep him from me like you always have."

He heard a scoff on the other end of the line. "Would that really be such a bad thing?" Joey managed, but before Albert could fight back, the conversation took a turn. "Fine. He's awake anyway. You don't believe me? Talk to him... Craig..."

Catching his breath and calming himself, Albert listened to the shuffling on the phone. In a moment, after a few shared words with Joey, his son's voice graced his ears.

"... Dad?"

He heard that cracked, feverish voice and immediately wished he could be at Craig's side. Any time his son had ever been sick, _he_ had been there to take care of him until he was better. Seeing Craig that way had always stopped him from being angry.

"I... I was just calling to check on you..." he started in a small voice. "I didn't realize you were sick."

He remembered one day when Julia called him at work; something Albert hadn't been very happy about at first. _I just want to let you know that Craig is sick. I had to pick him up from school early today. I know you're probably busy, but..._. Almost instantly, Albert hushed her. _No, no. It's fine. I'm coming home._

Craig had only been five at the time, but still today, Albert worried for him as though he weren't almost fifteen. He loved his son; in spite of everything, he really, really did... and more than ever, he wanted to have him home so he could care for him.

"Yeah..." Craig answered with a broken laugh. "It's just the flu is all."

Albert frowned. "How high is your fever?" he tried in a gentler voice.

"102. It's come down since earlier. I'm doing okay now."

But Albert could hear that tired, sickly tone, and he knew Craig was trying not to make a big deal out of the situation. 102 was high enough, but if it had been worse earlier...

"You sure you don't want me stop by? Maybe... see if I can do anything?"

Another awkward pause, followed by several rough coughs. "Uh... no. I think... I think I'll be all right."

Albert felt his heart sink. "Positive...?" he persisted. "You sound pretty bad."

Again, Craig forced his laugh. It died down painstakingly. "I... Joey's taking good care of me, Dad."

He cleared his throat at his son's words. "Okay, I guess. Everything's... going all right at Joey's, then?"

"Yeah."

"Good. I'm... I'm glad," Albert reasssured his son, nodding his head. "Mind if I talk to him before you hang up?"

He could hear Craig pull the phone away to speak with Joey. Albert gritted his teeth. He hated that; he hated it so much.

"Uh... sure."

Albert felt his throat tighten. "Thanks. Feel better, okay?"

"Okay."

"Call me if you need anything."

"Uh... I will."

"All right... I love you, Kiddo."

"Uh... yeah. Love you too."

And then he was gone. Craig's last words to him were nothing but repititive and lifeless. Albert knew he had lost his son's love long ago. A sharp pang in his heart told him that.

Joey's voice came back. "Albert?"

"... So..." Albert managed, keeping his temper. "He's going to be okay?"

"Yes," Joey assured him, sounding completely positive. "The only reason is fever was up earlier was because he went to school. He's better now, but he needs to rest up."

Albert nodded. "I know."

The silence came flooding back. Albert was fighting the words his heart was nagging him to say. _Thank you. Thank you for taking care of my son when I was obviously so unable to. _But he couldn't. He just couldn't thank Joey for taking Craig... or Julia... away from him.

"Goodbye, Joey."

"... Goodbye."

He hung up the phone after a lingering pause. Craig's lifeless words still hung in his mind. _Uh... yeah. Love you too. _He wondered what went through his son's mind when he thought of him. Could he remember the few good moments from long ago...? Or were his memories clouded by broken bones and photographs?

He remembered the day he beat Craig in the darkroom, throwing the door open and overexposing his new photos to the light. The Perfect Family album... Joey... Julia... Angela... and Craig. Himself... not included. It hurt. It hurt so bad to see what had become of their relationship, and at that time, he blamed Julia for it. When he saw those frightened, hazel eyes gleaming on Craig's own face, he was fueled to beat the shit out him... and he did.

He and Craig were not the perfect family. Even when Julia was around, they weren't. But with Joey, Craig seemed so much more lively, so much happier... even when he was sick. It made _him_ sick. Albert groaned and sipped his coffee, trying to calm his stomach. He had stripped sanity, comfort and a sense of home from his own son's mind... and somehow, Joey was able to replace that. Somehow, Joey had always been the better man.

When Craig left that day, he thought it was temporary. His son had used the words "while we get this sorted out..." to describe his stay at Joey's. He would be home soon, Albert had to tell himself, and that belief was what got him through the day... but he was wrong.

Albert had come home today, broken a glass and yelled at Craig for it... who wasn't even here. How could he possibly have him come home if he _still_ felt the urge to fight with him even in his absence? No. Things had changed, and the tables had turned. Craig would come home, and nothing would change; Albert knew that... because he _still_ felt angry.

Here was Craig's temporary home. Joey's was slowly becoming the place where he was supposed to be - to live. He was trying to move on without him, Albert realized, setting down his coffee and leaning back. For years, he had done nothing but cause Craig pain and ruin his life. He had made this house just a nightmare for his son... a stop on his way to living his life. Craig hated him... feared him... and hurt because of him...

Albert's eyes found the picture of them when Craig had only been four. He saw the smile - the ghost of a last laugh etched across his son's face - as he sat on his father's shoulders. The sunlight cast over them. Craig... Albert could hardly recall a time after that were he had been so happy. He sighed again.

Looking back at it, it was easy to see that things had changed drastically between he and Craig. Today, it was easy to get angry and beat his son around. It was easy to pin the blame on Craig when he couldn't find another reason for his problems.

It was easy to say that Craig's life in this house had only been temporary...

But Albert was going to change that.


End file.
